Monday, January 21, 2013


Between a visit from Bryan Roessel, a date who likes poetry, open mic nights and a poet roommate I'm been inspired...almost write more. Lately it seems that words and ideas form mostt often while I''m running. This one developed yesterday and I actually got the courage to share it with Rafael and get some feedback. Here's what I've got so far:


There’s a wide spread belief that one will always be emotionally attached
To the first person they sleep with; that the hormones and the vulnerability
Will imprint on us like ducks on their ducklings and we will follow
Our first partner blindly, in line, never asking questions, never forgetting.

The same could be said for feelings. I shed the only three emotions I’d ever known:
Anxiety, sadness and anger. I was naked without them when you walked in.
You said I looked genuine and beautiful
And asked me to stay undressed.

It started on the Valentine’s Day when we ate the heart shaped pizza in my kitchen.
I laughed at your jokes but never  because I was nervous.
We went to a poetry reading and the poems were so beautiful that we cried.
I’d never cried over a poem before.

I fell in love with you, not because of the pizza or the poems or
Your brilliant blue eyes sharing tears like a cold shower in the desert.
I fell in love with you because you were with me the first time
I felt something other than numb. 

Wednesday, January 16, 2013


My fear of people exhausts me.
My muscles ache from holding them clenched so tightly;
always bracing for the sudden impact of
Someone else’s interest in me.

(Who hit you? My therapist once asked.
No one, I said. But if I hold myself like this
There will be less of me for them to judge.)

I consistently avoid eye contact.
Because  if I look at someone directly,
They’ll climb inside me and inspect my inner parts,
Poking and prodding where I feel it the most.

Can you see where I’m going with this?
All human contact is raw and ardent
And most of all, physical.
So I never feel like I’m wearing enough clothes.

My fear of people exhausts me.
I’m tired of the muscle aches,
The lowered eyes, the cold.
No one actually wants to hurt me.

If they're anything like me
They just want to climb through my eyes
To find something of themselves
Some sort of reflection, some validation

That they'll be remembered somewhere.
If they're anything like me (and they are!)
They're looking inside someone else
Just to be reassured they're still alive.